


Tremors

by Corvid_Knight



Series: Mutantstuck [24]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen, Mutantstuck, Panic Attacks, Prompt: Shaky hands, Promptober
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-09 02:15:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20845880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corvid_Knight/pseuds/Corvid_Knight
Summary: Rose's routine is interrupted by a vision.Well, maybe not a vision. Maybe it's something a little less helpful.





	Tremors

You know the signs well enough to catch yourself before it really starts. It's the tremors that tip you off—even if you can't tell yet if this is a garden-variety mental problem or something a little less mundane, you realize your hands are shaking and immediately drop the knife you're holding into the pile of chopped celery on the counter. Half of your mind is already upset that you're not going to be able to finish starting dinner, but you remind yourself that either you'll be fine in a few minutes, or Dave or Hal or someone will come in and rescue tonight's soup. 

God, you hope it won't be Wade. He's a decent cook, but he's not really an efficient one, and watching someone chop carrots with what is absolutely the wrong knife is...nerve-racking. Even more so when the "wrong" knife isn't even a knife. Davepeta and most of the trolls may love to see him assassinate vegetables, but _you_ certainly don't. 

When did you end up on the floor? You're not sure, but that's where you are now, on the floor with your knees drawn up to your chest and your back pressed into the corner made by two of the low cabinets. There's a drawer pull digging into your ribs and that's somehow secondary to how your hands are shaking as you hold them out in front of yourself. 

They shouldn't still be shaking. Not if it's a vision. Those come and then they're gone, that's how it's always been; recognizing what you can do hasn't really changed your ability to harness it. 

(That ability doesn't exist. You can't control your power.) 

You don't think you'll ever be able to. Your mutation isn't like Dirk's or Hal's, even less like Dave's—maybe it's a bit like D's, except...

Why won't your hands stop shaking? Why can't you make them stop? 

You're not like D, either. D's power is easily explainable: he understands crows and other corvids. They speak to him, he speaks to them, it's all very simple. Clear-cut and neat. 

You're not neat. You're...

Shaking. You're shaking. It shouldn't be this bad. 

You're not prescient. Some of the time what you see isn't in the future. You're not a situational telepath or empath—there's no trigger to what you know, other than that your power seems to think you _should_ know it. And yes, you shouldn't be distancing yourself from your mutant abilities like this, you know that, of _course_ you know that—you've spent a lot of your free time researching ways of dealing with the inherently traumatic experience of being not-perfectly-human in a largely human and fairly bigoted society. You know that you shouldn't think of your mutation as something other than yourself. 

But in your case, it's warranted. You can't control your abilities, you don't understand them, you—

Yes, all of that's excuses, and if you brush all of them aside you have to confront the fact that knowing that you shouldn't be doing something does not always prevent you from doing it. If it did, Dave wouldn't still be going to therapy for his PTSD, Ambrose wouldn't need at least weekly reassurances that he really is a Strider and that the entire family loves him no matter where his DNA came from. If it did, your hands wouldn't be shaking. 

Why aren't you seeing anything? You should know by now. What's wrong with you? 

"Rose?" 

That's either Dave or Davesprite; the voice doesn't have that little trill on the _R_ that Davepeta would have. Normally you'd be able to identify which of the remaining two it was, but right now sounds seem to be struggling through an almost-tangible barrier to get to you. You find yourself taking feeble comfort in the fact that that's not a normal prelude to a vision. 

Unfortunately that means that you are just having a panic attack. You're not sure why you're having a panic attack. That doesn't seem to change the fact that you are, in fact, having one. It doesn't even make your hands stop shaking. 

You close your eyes so you at least don't have to look at them any longer. Somewhere close, Davesprite squawks in alarm; a moment later you feel delicate fingers on your arm, just barely brushing your skin before pulling back. 

"Oh, shit—Rose?" 

If he thinks you're going to answer him, he needs to reassess his take on the situation. You don't think you can even move right now, let alone speak. 

Davesprite is both perceptive and used to panic attacks, though; after a second (probably just a second) you hear him scoot across the tile floor, close enough that you can almost sense the softness of feathers just a few inches from your hands. Then he puts his palm flat against yours, giving you a couple seconds to see if you'll flinch back before he laces his fingers through yours. 

That's...surprisingly comforting. You can feel that hand trying to keep trembling, but he's holding tightly enough that that's not happening. Your other hand's still shaking, you think, but in another second he takes that one too, feathers brushing your bare arms as he rearranges his wings to cut off everything that isn't you and him. 

Once you realize that is, in fact, what he's trying to do, you take a deep breath and open your eyes again. Creamsicle-orange eyes blink back at you—Davesprite's more like Dave than Davepeta is; he keeps most emotion off his face, but the little worry-lines between his eyes give him away. That probably shouldn't be comforting, but it is anyway. 

"You seeing shit?" he asks, wings flexing a little. The movement draws your attention and you glance to the side, but all that's there to see is pastel orange feathers. Nothing to be upset over, just implicit (if illusory) safety. 

This is where you wish that you didn't have a pathological need to add adjectives to everything. What are you even afraid of? Are you even afraid? Why don't you feel safe? 

"Rose?" Davesprite prompts you after another second, snapping your attention back to him. Oh. He asked a question. 

"It—wasn't a vision." Damnit. You shouldn't have left it open like that. Now he's going to ask—

But no. Davesprite just nods and squeezes your hands again. "Want to go sit on the couch and text Kanaya?" 

"I'm making dinner." 

"Rose, it's like ten in the morning." 

"Soup has to have time to cook, brother dearest." 

"Not _that_ long." He makes a face, then peeps as you roll your eyes and squeeze his hands. "Chill. I'll get Eridan down to cut veggies until you get done talking to your girlfriend." 

"Eridan's here?" 

"He was before I came in here, so...yeah." 

"He's not going to want to help with food." You've broken up enough arguments involving him to know that. 

Davesprite grins and folds his wings back, rising to his feet in a motion that seems to involve a few too many joints for anyone that isn't him. He pulls you along with him; you're relieved to find that you are, in fact, capable of moving now. At least when someone else is providing the impetus. "I'll talk him into it." 

"Should I be worried?" Yes. Yes you should. 

"Nah. C'mon, I'll get you settled before I go get him."


End file.
